Evocative of my schooldays. Being always the shyest, smallest and withdrawn of the boys, was bad eno
Evocative of my schooldays. Being always the shyest, smallest and withdrawn of the boys, was bad enough, but when mother, a rocker at heart, decided she wanted me to grow my hair long, that is when the teasing began, that I “looked like a girl”.It all came to ahead one school day, after a gym session, when about to change into my uniform, I discovered to my horror, that in my rucksack, a skirt was in place of my pants. A blouse in place of my shirt. Prettily patterns socks in place of my socks. Even knickers instead of my boxers. When I meekly set about telling the teacher, a young attractive lady, what appeared to be that some students had replaced my own, my horror was compounded with the realization, that she was in on this conspiracy. The class giggling, struggling to contain their delight, as the teacher claimed to recollect me wearing a girls skirted uniform that whole day, and that I should stop causing a fuss and quickly get changed into “my” uniform.A boy’s first experience in a girl’s school uniform was one of overwhelming humiliation, made so much worse how I really looked like a girl. A pretty one at that. Upon arriving home, my story was met with mother’s disbelief, as she expressed that I was free to wear whatever I liked, and that I was lucky my father was no longer around. Being raised by a single mother, there wasn’t much money around, meaning at the time I only had three school uniforms (one of them, now being a girl’s uniform), so my fate was sealed when my unfortunate gym experience was repeated on a further two occasions. I had become a boy who owned three girl’s uniforms. The next morning I set about, for the first time, experiencing what it was like getting dressed into a girl’s uniform. Arriving in class, was an experience of embarrassing defeat, and triumph not only for my classmates, but my teacher, who displayed a wide grin. My subjection still wasn’t over. When the morning register was taken, the room fell silent when I was called out by a feminine variation of my name (”Louise” instead of “Lou”). After a moment of conflict, my final capitulation of answering the register, was accompanied with tears running down my face. The teacher, feigning sympathy, gestured for one of the students to bring my some tissues,“Get her some tissues……. aww, she is such a sensitive young lady…..” The Masochistic Emasculation Fetish reddit group -- source link
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